You come through the front door now,
reach down to hug the dog,
look up at me with a shrug. What else
is there to do?
I hold my arms at my sides, like some shy
audience member called on stage
by Letterman, but their nerves vibrate
as if two phantom limbs are reaching out.
They think you’re still my wife,
can feel your charge,
the alternating current,
there and not there.
Margaret DeRitter is a freelance writer and editor living in Kalamazoo, Michigan, with her dog, Murray. She worked as a full-time journalist for 30 years. Her poetry has appeared in Scarlet Literary Magazine and Encore Magazine.
Categories: LGBTQ+, Poetry, Themed
Tags: e-zine, ezine, hyperbole, LGBTQ+, longing, melancholy, melancholy hyperbole, new, poem, poet, poetry, poets, submit, writing
Melancholy Hyperbole 